


Crow's Eyes

by AnnaofAza



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, Halloween, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-05
Updated: 2016-11-05
Packaged: 2018-08-29 02:02:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8471272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaofAza/pseuds/AnnaofAza
Summary: Eggsy steps forward, then reaches out to touch Harry’s hand. “I wouldn't care if our ages were reversed or you were the same age as me. I just care that you come with me.” He smiles, thumb tracing over Harry’s knuckles. “Go in silly couple’s costumes. Get drunk on Jamal’s famous spiked punch. Take a turn with me to the Monster Mash.”





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elletromil](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elletromil/gifts).



> From a tumblr autumn fic meme: scarecrow! (I really tried to work in a pun about scarecrows and being scared of crow's eyes. I really did.)

Fall, Eggsy discovers, comes with new pleasures in his relationship with Harry. The cold weather is always a good excuse to wrap himself in Harry’s robe and curl up against him on the couch, as well as helpful in coaxing Harry to stop by the coffee shop during their evening walks. The barista always begins preparing their drinks well before they reached the counter, and Harry tips her a generous amount when they pick up their hot chocolates—Eggsy’s with a generous swirl of whipped cream and Harry’s with a pinch of cinnamon and cayenne pepper.

Fall means that Harry buys him a soft, woolen scarf to wind around his chilled neck, then puts his own overcoat over his shoulders when Eggsy arrives at the shop in nothing but his suit. Fall means that Harry plans him a surprise birthday at the Black Prince and that Eggsy gets to kiss him in front of all his friends and family. Fall means that Harry starts teaching him recipes for stews and soups that can go into a Crock Pot and be piping hot and ready by the time they get home late.

It also, however, means that Eggsy gets to experience Harry’s stubbornness in full.

“What do you mean by _no_?” he asks, standing in Harry’s office, which used to be Chester King’s.

“I mean that I don’t think I can come,” Harry replies, adding his signature to yet another finance report.

“Of course you can come,” Eggsy protests. “No one’s saying you can’t.”

“I know that,” Harry says, voice edging into the sort of impatience that’s trying not to claw through his veneer of politeness. “But I think it would be best if you go alone.”

 _Ouch_. Eggsy tries to ignore the sharp tap against his heart as he demands, “Why?”

“You’ll be more comfortable with your old friends.”

“Roxy’s coming.”

“Roxy is…” Harry takes a deep breath, then forces the next words out like they’re being dragged out of him: “Roxy is your age. As are your other friends.”

“I don’t care about that.” Eggsy steps forward, then reaches out to touch Harry’s hand. “I wouldn't care if our ages were reversed or you were the same age as me. I just care that you come with me.” He smiles, thumb tracing over Harry’s knuckles. “Go in silly couple’s costumes. Get drunk on Jamal’s famous spiked punch. Take a turn with me to the Monster Mash.”

Harry sighs, then pulls his hand away. “I’ll think about it,” he says, which is Harry-speak for _No._

Trying not to echo Harry’s sigh, Eggsy lets it go. He remembers his party, where Harry would mostly talk to just Percival and Merlin—and on some occasions, Daisy, while Ryan, Jamal, and Roxy persuaded Eggsy into a Cards Against Humanity game. He knows the looks they get in public, some unkind or confused, as well as the slight stiffening of Harry’s shoulders. He remembers the brief startle when Eggsy got carded in a bar they were going into for reconnaissance—Eggsy had been flattered, if a touch offended—and the long glances at the people laughing on the dance floor.

Harry came back from Kentucky alive, but with migraines and a slight touch of memory loss, and each time Harry forgot a certain date of one of his missions or the name of the Arthur before Chester King, he’d look pained, then rub at his hands, which ache in the cold.

Eggsy isn’t blind or stupid; he knows what he’s gotten himself into with someone older, but doesn’t care. Kentucky had taught him that life was short—and Harry was alive, so why waste that time with uncertainties?

Sometimes, he gets frustrated with Harry for not seeing that, but knows Harry’s trying. He’s removed the dead pets and their plaques into the guest room so Eggsy doesn’t have to strip with all those eyes staring at him. He’s allowed Eggsy to teach him how to freestyle rap, then show him some of his more modern dance moves. He’s even decorated Mr. Pickle with a wizard’s hat, put a jack-o-lantern in the window, and stuck a scarecrow outside the door.

Now, Eggsy kisses Harry on the forehead and takes a seat on the other side of the desk, pulling out his tablet. Might as well get some work done.

* * *

Jamal’s place hasn’t much changed, but he’d gone to town, as he always did, with the holidays. The lights are off, with only garlands of jack-o-lanterns and a black light—Eggsy doesn’t ask how Jamal got his hands on that—glowing. He’d shoved the kitchen table and a rickety picnic table to hold a large punch bowl, some crisps, and a lot of candy, then somehow got his sister to share her iPod jack and speakers to play some music.

Jamal himself looks aces in golden armor, a horned helmet, and a fake sword hanging from his belt, and throws open the door for Eggsy and Roxy with a suggestion to head for the punch bowl. Roxy draws a good amount of eyes with her blue cloak, white wig, and stuffed dragon perched on her shoulder, as Eggsy gets a few drunken wolf-whistles from his tightly-fitting, red suit with a lightning bolt on his chest.

The party’s already going, with Ryan and his new girlfriend leading half of the crowd to “Gangnam Style” and the other part seeing how much candy they can cram into their mouths at once.

“I’m getting a drink,” Roxy shouts over the music. “Want one?”

“Make it two,” Eggsy says.

Two turns into three, then five, then more, but Eggsy’s not much enjoying himself like he normally does. He does beat Jamal in a dance competition, Ryan in a rap battle, and dances with people he hasn’t seen since he moved out of the estates, but a stubborn part of his mind keeps drifting to Harry. He knows, looking around, that even if Harry did come, he’d hate it—the flashing lights that are beginning to give him a headache, the conversations that had to be shouted over the music, the dancing that involved grinding and fist-pumping and stomping.

And to be honest, Eggsy’s not fond of it all, either.

“Hey!” someone shouts, and Eggsy turns around, nearly stumbling over his feet, to see a familiar bloke flagging him down, dressed in a cowboy outfit, with the hat tilted dashingly to the side. “Eggsy, lookin’ good. Really good.”

“Thanks,” Eggsy replies.

“And your girlfriend looks great, too.” He winks, nodding over to Roxy, who’s doing a handstand in the middle of the floor. “Right fit.”

“She ain’t my girlfriend.” Eggsy shakes his head, groaning when his head protests the motion. “How’s the fire station, Jamie?”

“Our boss is a fucking nightmare, but we get the job done,” Jamie replies, then winks again. “So, if you’re not with ‘er, mind dancing with me?”

Eggsy looks at him, blue-eyed and dark-haired, with an easy smile and eyebrows that could dice a tomato and fingers that have showed him how to roll a blunt. “All right,” he says carefully, “but I want to get going soon.”

“It’s only ten, bruv,” Jamie complains, as he leads him to the dance floor. “Where’re you going off to?”

“Home,” Eggsy says, thinking of Harry again, sitting on the couch alone, probably reading a book or watching mindless telly. Home, with warm kitchens and hips bumping and light teasing and stolen kisses.

Jamie nods in time to the music. “Yeah, that’s right, you moved out of here. You’re a tailor now, right? Some posh gig, yeah?”

“Yup.” Eggsy swerves to avoid whacking Ryan’s girlfriend in the face with his arms. “Savile Row.”

“Full of rich tossers, huh?” Jamie grins, then lightly taps his shoulder. “Probably fat old men, huffing and puffing at your lovely accent.”

“Not all of them are like that.” Eggsy then realizes Jamie’s closer now, swiveling his hips in a way that would have raised his attention in another life. “Jamie…”

And Jamie leans in, kissing him hard on the mouth, tasting off pumpkin cut with whiskey.

Immediately, Eggsy shoves him away. “No,” he says. “I’ve got someone.”

Jamie flinches. “Oh,” he mutters. “Too good now, yeah?”  

“No.” Eggsy holds his ground, trying not to sway on his feet. “Look, bruv, I haven’t forgotten you lot, but just because I moved somewhere else doesn’t mean I automatically hold people here in contempt.” He’s amazed that he managed a sentence this long, considering his drunkenness. “I’m going now.”

He waves to Roxy, who comes over. “I’m going home,” he tells her. “Want to stay?”

“I’ll go back with you,” she replies. “You look awful.”

* * *

When Eggsy stumbles out of the cab, he slurs out a drunken goodbye to Roxy, who waves back, and heads over to the house.

He then stops dead. There’s a person on the porch, with jeans and some sort of mask on their face.

Who are they? Some sort of goon who followed them home from a mission? Someone stalking Harry or him? They’re not a trick-or-treater; there’s no bag, and they’re being far too still and silent. And Harry clearly hasn’t seen them, or else he’d be out there, telling them to get off his porch.

Whoever they are, they’re not going to get away with this any longer.

With a deep breath, he charges, a yell trapped in his throat. 

His fist lands soft in the belly, then again on the chest with a soft _puff_ , before he realizes something’s wrong.

“Egsgy,” a voice says, concerned. “Eggsy, you’re attacking the poor scarecrow.”

“What?”

Arms fold around him, guiding him into the house, which is mercifully low-lit and perfectly quiet. “Let’s get you into bed. Can you handle the stairs?”

Eggsy groans in response.

“All right, then.” Harry lifts him into his arms, strong and muscled and safe. “Up you get. Let’s see if we can make it without banging a foot.”

“Never drinking _again_.”

“I highly doubt it. Now, arms around my neck. Good. Almost there.”

His body feels like jelly, unresisting when Harry lays him on the bed and begins to tug off his costume. “Not…too tired, Harry,” he slurs, then grins. “But maybe in the morning?”

“I know. I’m going to put you in proper pyjamas, then you can go to sleep. All right, Eggsy? Help me out. Move your arm—other arm—good. Now, the other…”

With Harry’s patient guidance, Eggsy manages to get the too-tight costume off, raising his legs, then hips to allow Harry to slip on pyjama bottoms, the silk ones Harry bought for him for his birthday. He rejects the offered shirt, holding out his arms instead, and Harry obligingly climbs in beside him.

“I love you, Harry,” he murmurs, already closing his eyes. “I love you so much. ‘S not the alcohol, okay? I love you. Do you know that?”

“I do.” Harry’s voice is quiet, and fingers run through his hair. “I do. I love you, too. Forgive an old man for his foolishness.”

“You’re not…” Eggsy sighs, burying his face into Harry’s chest. “You weren’t the one who maimed your scarecrow.”

“He’ll be fine.” Harry holds him closer. “Go to sleep, Eggsy. I’ll be here.”


End file.
